Pluto, they can say what they like about you, but we’ll always have Paris.
BIGGER IMAGE RIGHT HERE
![The Death by Fire of Notre Dame in Paris (1163 - 2019) [UPDATED]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/aalileks.png "The Death by Fire of Notre Dame in Paris (1163 - 2019) [UPDATED]")
![That Was the Whopper Weekend That Was [Illustrated]](https://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/05/welcometohell-150x150.jpg "That Was the Whopper Weekend That Was [Illustrated]")
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
Gerard Van der Leun
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Three cheers for the Red, White & Blue!
Man Very Early Made Jars Stand Up Nearly Perfect.
Pluto has always been a planet to me and always will be.
That picture looks like the moon after someone parked it in a back alley of downtown NYFC all night.
(where my spray paint can is?)
No problems there a little global warming couldn’t help.
@ghostsniper: I learned the mnemonic as: My Very Elegant Mother Just Sat Upon Nine Porcupines.
“We’ll always have Paris”
LOL – I made Geoff C. a pillow using old maps of Oregon and Washington. It was from a novelty kerchief from the 40’s or 50’s with all the iconic sights and products of the two states. On the back I embroidered: “We may never have Paris. . .but we’ll always have Dismal Nitch.” (Look it up, Dismal Nitch)
@Skorpion. ever heard this’n?
George Edison’s Oldest Gurl Rode A Pig Home Yesterday